


Venus in Blue

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot, Tie Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:50:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Gold was happy to assist in the liberation of Miss French, but nothing more. He didn't want to do anymore harm. Miss French, however, has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venus in Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts from Triplepirouette (NIN's Closer) and Calonari (Venus)

The bell jangled and Gold looked up. 

He barely had the chance to realise who was prowling towards him before she leaned over the counter, grabbed his tie and pulled his mouth to hers.

Moe French’s girl. Izzy. Fresh out the asylum. Vulnerable.

Those words were screaming in his head, but all he could taste was Belle Belle Belle.

“You’re closing early,” she growled. “Get in the back.”

“I hardly think…” he began.

“Now,” she said, baring her teeth, blue eyes flashing. The mighty and powerful terror that was Rumpelstiltskin stared at the tiny wisp of a woman with her pink lips and blue eyes and she slapped her hand down hard on the glass. “I said now.”

“Dearie…”

If anything, that was throwing gasoline on the flame.

Her hand twisted into his tie, her pupils wide and dark and she leaned over the counter and ran her tongue along his lower lip, then she bit it and fireworks shot through his bloody treacherous body. 

“I said,” she growled, “back shop. Now. Get in there and get your pants down.”

He got as far as going to the back shop. That was it. Then they would be reasonable adults, and he could think straight and talk sense, and persuade her that she, Izzy French, should not be doing what she clearly intended to do.

It lasted until she stalked after him, having locked the door. Somewhere between the door and the curtain that separated the shop from the back, she had pulled off her t-shirt and her denim skirt, and all she was wearing was baby blue briefs and a lacy bra.

Gold’s mouth went bone dry and he clung onto his cane as if it was a talisman. Against a beautiful woman, his gorgeous Venus. There was something so very, very wrong with his brain. So wrong. And she was there, and pale in the dusty light of the shop, and glaring at him like he had done something wrong.

“Your pants,” she said, prowling closer. She still had her shoes on. With heels. Oh God above her legs. Her legs and the curve of her hips and her arse. And he was backing away like the coward he was, and she was advancing and the bloody goddamned table was right there, in his way, blocking his escape.

He tried to be a gentleman. He’d seen to it that she was safely home, and settled, and that he father could provide for her. And then, he promised himself he would never see her again to keep her from harm. Avoiding her meant he didn’t have to face things like… like this. Like the woman, the love of his life, stalking around his shop in the most innocent of underwear, and yet being the sexiest thing he had ever seen in his damned life.

She was right in front of him, and placed one foot on either side of his legs, resting her hands on the table on either side of him. “You’re not doing what I told you to,” she said, her face so close to his he could almost taste it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said hoarsely.

She brought one hand up to wrap around the cane that was still clasped between them. “You think I don’t know that,” she said, her eyes fixed on his face. 

He tried to hold eye contact, but she had her hand wrapped around the cane and was dragging her palm up and down in slow, lazy strokes, and his voice caught in his throat, a groan smothering it, and his trousers were getting to be uncomfortable. 

“All I hear,” she breathed, the insides of her thighs pressing against the outside of his, rubbing every time she shifted her weight, “is Mr Gold is bad. Mr Gold is trouble. Mr Gold is evil. Mr Gold will hurt you.” She closed her hand tight around his cane and leaned so close that the stick, her hand, his hands, were crushed between her bare body and his clothed one. “Like I don’t know it, Rumpelstiltskin.”

He flinched back as if she had struck him, startled. “Belle?”

She smiled slowly. “There’s my love,” she whispered. “My little coward.” She brushed the tip of her nose against his. “Still afraid?”

“Gods, yes,” he whispered, staring at her. “What happened to you?”

She smiled, and it wasn’t the Belle he remembered, but it was. It was, and her body was pressing against him, and she was watching him, a hawk on a mouse, a lioness on a lamb, a wonderful, wicked vixen. 

“You did.” She swayed back enough to pull the cane from between them, throwing it aside with a clatter. “Pants. Now.”

“Belle…”

Her fingers pressed to his lips and she shook her head, tutting. “No, Rumpelstiltskin,” she said, low, dangerous, hungry. Her other hand was at his belt, not undoing, just resting there, just hovering. “I waited for you. You came for me, eventually. I knew you would, and then what? Nothing. You find me, free me, give me back my life, and you think you get to just walk away?”

“You deserve better,” he whispered against her fingertips.

“Tough shit,” she whispered, and for a moment, his Belle was right there in front of him, all clear-eyed and beautiful. “I want you.”

“Belle…”

She moved her hands, braced them on either side of him again, and swayed closer. Her hair was loose, spilling around her shoulders, brushing the front of his jacket, his shirt, and her hips were so close to pressing against his. “Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll walk out this door.”

His breath trembled across his lips. “I don’t… not love you,” he whispered.

She could have lit the whole town with her smile, and then she was kissing him again, all hunger and want, and she lifted one of his hands to his belt. Pushing, forcing, taking, none of those things were her. The choice, the next move was his.

“Pants,” she whispered against his lips, and then moved her hips forward.

She might as well have had his dagger. His belt was undone and his pants hit the floor less than a second later. He could almost taste the smile, and caution went out the window. Belle, his Belle, was here, and kissing him and wanting him, and he was damned if he cared that she was still registered as ‘vulnerable’.

Her skin was smooth as finest silk under his hands and he ran them all over her, up her back, down to squeeze her arse, even over those lovely, lovely legs that were framing him. She was licking and sucking at his lips, nibbling her way down, biting at his throat, then back up. His shirt was undone, but her hand was in his tie again, twisting, holding him, making sure he couldn’t run.

“You want?” she whispered, biting and licking his earlobe.

“Gods, yes,” he groaned, then groaned again when she stepped back.

It was only far enough to perch on the table behind him, and she dragged him after her by his tie. Not that she really needed to.

He was on her in an instant, pushing her back on the dusty surface, one hand squeezing her breast through her bra, the other sliding down her belly, the smooth curve so inviting that he bent and pressed his mouth to it. She squirmed encouragingly, one leg wrapping around him to pull him closer, and he bit, then licked his way across the smooth shivering flesh. His hand slid lower still, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties.

“God, yeah,” she groaned, arching back. He chuckled against her skin, then scraped his teeth over the ribs he glimpsed as she breathed raggedly in and out. She gasped, the breath catching inwards, and sank her hands into his hair.

He moved his hand between her knickers and skin, and almost trembled at the heat of her, his legs already shaking. She writhed against his hand, against his mouth, and he darted his tongue into her navel, even as his fingertip slid against her entrance.

“Not that,” she panted. “You. Not just hands.”

He lifted his head to look at her, “Belle?”

“I’ve waited thirty years,” she whispered pleadingly. She pulled on the tie, dragging him up to claim his mouth again. “I want you,” she whispered between hot, wet kisses, her other hand reaching between them to pull his shirt up, aside. “Please.”

His heart was pounding, deafening, bloody, hot, and he stared at her. “Really?”

“For fuck’s sake!” she whimpered, wriggling against his hand. “Do I have to give you an instruction manual? Knickers! Off!”

He hooked his fingers over the edge of her dainty little panties, dragging them down, out of the way, but his eyes were on her the whole time, the way she lit up, the way she smiled, the way she suddenly scooted herself down the table and pressed her groin to his and made rockets go off behind his eyes.

“Now please,” she breathed, so sweetly, just as she had when asking him to take his feet off the dining table in the Dark Castle. He couldn’t help stopping, staring at her, spread on his work table, flushed and sweat-sheened already, and gods, he had never loved her more.

One of her legs tugged impatiently, and he moved his hands to her hips, lifting her just enough, and sliding against her. Even just the feel of her made his breathing grow ragged and she pulled his mouth hard on hers, the kisses made clumsy as their bodies pressed and rubbed against one another. She groaned against his lips, arching, then jerked her hips hard against him, pushing him inside her.

It wasn’t perfect, gentle, loving or even kind.

But her legs were around him, and she was pulling him closer and harder with hands and legs and body, and he caught her by the hips, pushing himself as deep as he could go, as if he could somehow make them one person just for a second, and when she gave a low, shrill cry into his mouth, he knew he’d damn near succeeded.

Their lips were touching, and they were sharing one another’s breath and he could do anything but stare at her. No thoughts. No reason. Her body and his. Completely still, deep and hot and tied to one another by the invisible line that thirty years had never severed. 

Her mouth turned up in a shaking smile and she tugged on the tie and his hair.

“There’s my Rumpelstiltskin,” she whispered. “I love you.”

That shattered any restrain the had left, and he moved over her, kissing her hungrily, his hands running over her sides, her breasts, up the legs wrapped around him. She lifted her hips to meet every thrust, her hand sliding from his hair to hook into his back through his shirt, her nails raking at him, ragged, sobbing little moans escaping her as their bodies crashed together like the waves breaking.

Every sound, every touch, was sending fire cascading through him, and he knew, knew too well, that he wouldn’t last. Not enough, not for her, not after so long. He slid a hand between them, stroking her, teasing, playing, encouraging urging, and groaned as he body tightened around his, even more, harder and hotter and stronger, and she was crying outright, tears on her face and clawing at him and the tie was pulling so tight he was almost seeing stars.

The heat built and built and the blackness was clouding the edge of his vision, and when he stuttered and slammed against her and the edge of the table, his whole world contracted to pinpoints and it felt like the pleasure fizzed through every single cell in his body.

All was dark and quiet and still and he could breathe again, ragged and deep. He was sprawled over her, knew he must be heavy, but couldn’t lift his head. Her shoulder was close to, so he slipped out his tongue and licked it lightly. All he could do, couldn’t even kiss it. Felt like too much effort. 

Her trembling fingers were smoothing his hair over and over, and she was murmuring, but he couldn’t make out what. Didn’t know, couldn’t understand. His head was cloudy, blurry and delightful. She was warm and soft and holding him. 

It took time before he could raise himself, his arms braced on either side of her head. She was glowing and smiling. He wondered if it was his mind playing tricks or just the inner magic of her own. 

He knew he should say something. Something about love. Wanting. Keeping her with him forever. Was difficult to gather thoughts into words. Too complicated. Too difficult. He leaned down, instead, and carefully, worshipfully, kissed the end of her nose.

The smile on her face said she understood exactly what he meant.


End file.
